


Strike Team Echo 01

by zombie_socks



Series: Strike Team Echo [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Comic Series, Depression, Drugs, Language, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strike Team Echo, stake out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“With all due respect, Sir, Echo was designed to be a strike team of SHIELD sanctioned super solders running on a SHIELD serum. Not a mentally questionable, ragtag, hodgepodge of rehabbed Russian off-brands, WWII vets, and…Barton. You are aware he isn’t a super soldier, right, Sir?”  </p><p>Or the one where Echo has their first mission, everyone needs to talk to Fury, and drunk confessions happen. </p><p>Issue 01 of the Strike Team Echo series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Team Echo 01

** 2001 **

****

“When I told you about Echo, Agent, I didn’t mean go out and find whatever strays you think qualify immediately.”

“I know, Sir,” Coulson admitted readily. “But this one. This one just feels right.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, observing the recorded footage from an earlier interview with the barely twenty-something delinquent Coulson had dragged in. “Feels right, huh?”

“Sir, you know me. You know I’ve read every journal, every paper, every scrap of information regarding Captain Rogers and Erskine’s formula. All I’m asking is for you to give him the exam.”

Fury sighed. “We can’t dump him back on the street when he fails. He’s seen too much of the facility. You want him for Echo; I get that. But Phil, Echo doesn’t exist. Not yet. _If_ he does pass, we don’t have anywhere for him to go.”

Coulson’s mouth twitched. “Couldn’t we make him an agent?”

“What kind of agent uses a bow and arrow, Phil?”

“One with one hell of a kill count,” he tacked on a, “Sir” at the end off of Fury’s glare.

Fury rubbed a hand down his face, pinching his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “Fine. We’ll give him the exam. _If_ he passes, you’ll be in charge of training him.” He stood up. “I trust you, Phil. Don’t mess that up.” He dismissed the agent with a wave but then called Phil’s name, getting the agent to turn around. “Don’t tell him about Echo. Not until it’s actually up and running.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

** 2009 **

 

“Sir, I need to speak to you right away.”

“What is it, doctor?” Fury tried to hide his annoyance as he marched away from the med bay, eyes following the armed unit escorting Barton’s failed mission back to her cell.

“Sir, it appears that Romanov’s genetics have been modified.”

Fury stopped and whirled around to face the doctor. “What?”  

The doctor extended a clipboard over to the director, pointing to a chart. “Increased protein breakdown suggests an accelerated system. We’ve seen this before. Once before. Captain Rogers.”

Fury glared the doctor down with his one good eye. “Are you telling me she’s a super soldier?”

The doctor swallowed. “Something akin that, yes. It appears along with brainwashing the Russians were experimenting with modified genetic treatments.”

“Is it possible to replicate what they used?”

The doctor floundered for a moment, searching for the right answer. “Maybe. But, Sir, I wouldn’t recommend it. Romanov may be able to jump higher, run faster, heal better, but with all of her programming, it’s impossible to tell what it did to her mental state.”

Fury frowned but thanked the doctor. It looked like Echo would still have to wait.

 

** Yesterday **

 

“Sir, may I have a word with you?”

Fury looked up from his makeshift desk in his makeshift office at their temporary base. Damn Hydra. “Don’t you have a government organization to run, Hill?”

“A public organization. Not a secret little clubhouse like you have. Nor a freak show gathering like Phil with the Index.”

“Make it quick, Hill. I’m busy running my _clubhouse_.” He shot her look that told her he didn’t necessarily approve of the term.

“It’s about Echo, Sir.”

“What about it.” He leaned back in his chair, hands folded, resting on his gut.

“With all due respect, Sir, Echo was designed to be a strike team of SHIELD sanctioned super solders running on a SHIELD serum. Not a mentally questionable, ragtag, hodgepodge of rehabbed Russian off-brands, WWII vets, and…Barton. You are aware he isn’t a super soldier, right, Sir?”

“Training, Hill.”

“Excuse me?”

He dug around on his desktop until he procured the needed folder and tossed it towards her, landing it on the edge of his desk. “If all goes well on Echo’s first mission, we may have a serum sooner than you think. And if that’s the case, it’ll be good to have Barton ready.”

Hill picked up the file, flipped through it. She shook her head as she set it down. “For the record, Sir, I still think this is a bad idea.” She made her way for the door.

“You said the same thing about the Avengers.”

Hill stopped, turned, smirked. “Who says I’ve changed my mind on that point?”

 

** This Morning **

****

Fury readjusted the strap on his eye patch, hating how it felt tighter these days. A knock resounded on his office door. It was unmistakable to whom it belonged. “Come in, Agent.”

Romanov waltzed in, same grace as she had all those years ago when Barton brought her in. “You wanted to see me, Sir.”

“Yes. Have a seat.” He waited for her to settle before continuing. “Echo needs a team leader. I’m appointing you.”

Romanov’s brows scrunched together nearly imperceptibly. “Might I ask what criteria I fill?”

Fury rested his elbows on his desk. “Well for one you’ve worked individually with each of the other members.”

“Arguably on Barnes, Sir. Seeing as most of those memories were wiped in the Red Room.”

“But you still have an understanding of his skill set, correct.”

She hesitated a beat. “Yes, Sir.”

He opened a hand as if to say ‘there you have it.’ “Second, you’ve been with SHIELD longer than most of your team.”

“But not Barton.”

“ _And_ you possess a version of Erskine’s formula.”  

“A substitute at best, Sir.”

Fury narrowed his gaze. “Are you rejecting my appointment to this position, Agent?”

“No, Sir. It’s an honor.” But her voice sounded tight.

Fury nodded, sealing the deal. “Good.” He handed her the folder for their upcoming mission. “Then as official team leader, I suggest you take a look at that before the briefing.”

Natasha took the folder but didn’t open in. “Sir, do you think we’re ready? I mean Barnes is only two weeks out of deprogramming, Clint’s barely been cleared for field duty, and six months ago Rogers and I were wanted fugitives. Can we seriously be considering fieldwork?”

Fury leaned back in his chair. “Globe’s still spinning, Romanov. We need to make sure it stays that way.” He studied her, taking in the over composure of her posture, the neutral expression on her face. “Spit it out, Romanov. We’ve got a briefing to get to.”

She blinked once, twice, still motionless. “I’m confused about Barton being on this team. He’s not a super solider. According to your criteria, he doesn’t qualify.”

Fury straightened a pen on his desk. “I have no doubt Barton will be able to keep up.” He glanced up at her. “And with you as team leader, I trust you’ll utilize his skills to the best of their ability. Serum or no serum.”

Her jaw twitched ever so slightly. “Sir, you know how reckless Barton can be. You know that having him on a team of super soldiers will only push him into thinking he has to try harder. He’s going to get himself hurt. We both don’t need that, so until something else can be worked out, it’s my professional opinion that Clint be off the team.”  

A knock sounded on the doorjamb. Fury looked up as Natasha turned around in her seat. Steve shifted uncomfortable. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a briefing, right?”

“Conference room A,” Fury replied. “We’ll be there momentarily.”

Steve nodded and left. But Nat could see in his eyes that he’d overheard part of the conversation. She hoped he didn’t nag her about it later.

Fury sighed. “Barton stays, Romanov.” He put up a hand to stop her oncoming argument. “That’s final.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

** Now **

****

It was like something from one of those ridiculous cop dramas Clint was always watching. Natasha wondered if his steady TV-diet of those shows was born of some desire to have been a police officer. She figured that he might have gone that path if SHIELD hadn’t picked him up. Of course, he would’ve had to serve time behind bars himself (not a clean record, that man) before joining up. Maybe things worked out better the way they had. She, for one, was glad for it the way it was.

But Clint’s crime-drama passion was clearly visible in how he held the binoculars with one hand and braced his opposite elbow on the ledge of the car door at the base of the window. They were on a stakeout in New York, tracking down a drug lord who operated out of club on the lower east side. But why he was an interest to SHIELD and not the local police force was the type of drug he dealt. Opulence, a super soldier formula based pill that temporarily gave the user super strength, speed, etc., as well as the famous “Cap Body.” Needless to say, it was a hit.

The catch was users were dropping dead left and right because the serum was overworking their organs and most users weren’t consuming the needed caloric intake to keep it going.

“You see him yet, Hawkeye?” Steve asked, shifting in the back seat to lean forward and peer out the window over Clint’s shoulder in the driver’s seat.

“Sure, Cap. I saw him ten minutes ago. I was just waiting for you to ask,” Clint replied sarcastically.

Nat rolled her eyes and filled in another square of her Sudoku puzzle. “Relax, Cap. We’ll get this guy.”

“You can understand our concern,” Bucky piped up beside Steve, resting an arm at the shoulder of Nat’s seat. “This serum isn’t a joke, you know.”

“I know, Bucky. I have a version of it too, remember?”

Clint huffed from his stock-still position at the window. “I know I certainly didn’t forget that I’m the only one in this car not on the muscle pill.”

Nat ignored him and put in another number on her puzzle. Clint had made several comments about Echo. Fury had even tried to sell it as an extension of Strike Team Delta. But Clint didn’t have any version of the serum and when he’d asked Fury why he’d been put on the team, Fury said because he could keep up.

Bucky groaned from the backseat. “Will he get here already!”

“Patience,” Clint commanded. Then, “I thought you were a sniper, James.”

“I am. But only when _I’m_ the one behind the scope.” He groaned again.   
“Ya know, even Nazis didn’t take this long.”

Clint chuckled and Steve barked out a laugh. The two then struck up a story about some Hydra general who took so long to eat, Steve and his team emptied out the whole prison camp before the guy even got around to dessert.

Nat glanced over at her partner sitting motionless, waiting and watching with his sharp eyes.

“Hey guys,” Clint began and Nat could hear the smirk in his voice. “We’ve got movement. He’s coming out. He’s in the car.”

Phase one down. Phase two was ready to go. “Time to follow this loser,” Bucky chirped, buckling in upon Steve’s insistence.

The car tailed its prey for several blocks, Clint expertly keeping up with it through training and experience. They stopped and watched as their target got out of his car and entered a new club, probably to try and sell some more of his drug.

Clint put the car in park and looked over at Natasha. “How do you want to play this?”

Natasha had been grateful that none of her teammates had put up a fight over Fury choosing her for team leader. Steve had even looked a little relived. And as she looked at Clint, her mind fitting pieces together for their mission, she realized how small of a jump it was for him to accept her new position. Even when it had just been them on Delta, he’d turned to her as much as she’d turned to him.

“We’ll send someone inside to lure in the target. Once you’ve got eyes, get him into the alley.”

“Ambush?” Bucky asked.

“Precisely.”

“Alright, so who’s going in?” Clint inquired, eyes flicking over to the club.

Steve shook his head. “I’m out. Even if the target doesn’t recognize me, I don’t exactly fit his sought after clientele.”

Bucky snorted but ran a hand up Steve’s arm to the bicep. Nat had noticed how “touchy” Barnes had been ever since his deprogramming. She guessed he’d remembered Steve and what they had but couldn’t have back even before the war.

“That rules out Barnes,” Clint furthered. “His mug’s been all over the news. On the wanted ads, not Time Fucking Magazine,” he added, glint in his eyes. “That leaves you, Nat.”

“And you,” she reminded. She closed her Sudoku book, tucking the pen in between the pages to mark her place.

“You’re better at the luring thing. Remember Prague?”

“Yes. But I hadn’t been on national TV telling congress to go fuck themselves six months before that.”

Clint frowned. With a sigh he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Next time we settle this with ‘nose goes.’ Okay?”

Nat handed him the comm attachment to his hearing aid (Tony really did come through when they needed him the most) and turned back to face Steve and Bucky while he put it in.

“James, I’m putting you on the roof. If something goes wrong, fix it before it becomes a problem.”

He nodded, accepting his orders. Nat handed him his comm.

“Steve, you’re covering the back of the alley. I’ll take the front.”

With comms in place, a few knives secured to thighs and backs and slipped into boots, a rifle brought out discreetly from the truck, the group dispersed.

“See you all in a bit,” Clint bade. “Oh and Tash.”

“Clint.”

“I’m gonna do this in half the time it took you in Prague.”

She laughed, letting him hear the doubt in the tone. “Sure thing, bird brain.”

Clint slipped inside the club and was instantly assaulted with poor lighting, too-loud music, and foul odors. Seedy joint this one. But he guessed that made it the perfect place to unload some dope.

He sidled up to the long shabby bar – c’mon who covered the front of this thing with tin siding. Jesus – and ordered a scotch on the rocks. After a sip he cleared his throat and proceeded to look utterly miserable.

It didn’t take long for one of the too-many-drinks-in bar bunnies to slide in next to him.

“You alone, sugar?” she asked, voice only audible over the thumping music because of Stark’s filtration tech in his aides.

“I am now,” he answered bitterly.

The woman nodded, twirling a finger at the bottom of her hoop earing. “Somebody break your heart?”

He faced her with a wry grin. “That obvious, huh?” A beat. “Buy you a drink?”

She smiled sweetly. “Sure, sugar.” The barkeep passed buy and Clint ordered what she told him. With batting eyelashes she replied, “And as to the heartache, I just got a gift.” She leaned in. “Can tell that kind of…”

Her trailing off triggered a red flag. Nat asked for a report in his ear, which he ignored.

“Hey, don’t I recognize you?”

Clint shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

But she was already reaching for her phone. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re that hero guy. The one with the arrows.”

Again Clint shook his head.

“Lie, Barton!” Nat hissed in his ear.

“You’re mistaken,” he tried. He took another drink. “But I get that a lot.”

The woman frowned. “You do?”

“Yeah. Ever since those freaks showed up in New York I’ve been stopped left and right for pictures.”

The woman laughed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t think that would be the case.”

He narrowed his brows. “Why’s that?”

She smirked. “Well it’s not like you’re that Captain America fellow. Or the really hot one with the hammer.”

Clint frowned. Deeply.

The woman got up and grabbed her drink. “Good luck with that heartbreak.”

He watched her retreating for a second before yelling, “He’s a god, you know. Not all of us were born on fucking Asgard.”

A baggie of blue pills fell onto the bar top in front of him. A man with slicked back hair and an expensive suit slipped in next to Clint, business smile on his face. “But how would you like to feel like you were,” he offered, sleazy grin sliding over his features.

…

“He deserves to know,” Steve commented to Natasha as they watched Bucky shimmy up the fire escape towards the roof.

“Who deserves to know what?” Nat countered, wishing to not get into this with Captain Righteous, especially not in the middle of an op. She supposed it was payback for trying to find him a date all those months ago.

“Dumb’s not a good look on you, Nat. You know what I’m talking about.”

She didn’t answer.

“Look, I get why you don’t want Clint on the team.”

“Don’t you have an alley to cover, Rogers?”

He sighed. “Yes, ma’am.” He took a few steps to the other end of the alley before turning around. “All I’m saying is I know what it’s like being in a position where you have to put the one you love in danger.” His eyes flickered up to Bucky before he finished crossing the distance towards the end of the alleyway.

“No one ever said I was in love, Rogers,” she huffed under her breath before turning on her comm. “Barton, report.” She didn’t get a reply but could here a female voice crackle through the static on the other end, _“Hey, don’t I recognize you?”_

“Don’t think so,” Clint’s baritone answered. Nat rolled her eyes. Of course he’d try the angle that would allow him to flirt.

_“Yeah. Yeah. You’re that hero guy. The one with the arrows.”_

Great. First ten minutes and their covers were in jeopardy.

“Lie, Barton!” she hissed into her comm.

He covered it up as usual with some form of falsely elevated ego. It hurt a bit that Clint only gave himself credit when it was through the filter of a backstory, a different identity. Someday, she hoped, that man would quit underselling himself. He could be amazing…when he tried.

_“Well it’s not like you’re that Captain America fellow. Or the really hot one with the hammer. Good luck with that heartbreak.”_

Nat caught a glance of Rogers looking a bit fidgety at the comment so she knew he was listening. Barnes’ subtle chuckle told her a similar story.  

Clint hollered a less than snappy comeback, which told Natasha that he was still a bit off his game. A year and a half of being off duty would do that, she supposed.

_“But how would you like to feel like you were?”_

There he was: their mark. She checked her watch. Sixteen minutes. Damn, he beat her record from Prague. She’d argue with him later that it didn’t count seeing as the woman had given him the perfect scenario, not something he orchestrated entirely himself. But credit where it was due, she was in fact a bit impressed.

…

“Don’t do pills, man,” Clint dismissed, going for the “playing hard to get” angle he’d seen Nat employ many times.

“Oh, but these aren’t like your typical street drug,” the man pushed, scooting closer. He fished one out of the bag and held it up. “This is Opulence. And it will make you feel like you’re king of the world.”

Clint eyed the pill while finishing his drink.

The man stuck out his hand, going for the clincher. “Simon Thaddeus Welch.”

 _“He did not just use three names,”_ Barnes huffed over the comm.

“Greg,” Clint offered in return, taking the offered hand. Simon grinned at the captured interest.

“How about we make a deal, Greg? This whole bag full of magic is yours for a highly discounted price on two conditions.”

“Name ‘em.”

“One,” Simon produced a business card and slid it next to the bag. “You spread the word about business. Get me a few more clients.”

Clint pocketed the card. “And two.”

“You let me buy you a drink.” There was something more to his tone that suggested the later wasn’t purely business. But this wasn’t Clint’s first rodeo; he’d been hit on before.

“Why not,” he finalized. “I’ll need something to wash this down anyway.” He tapped the bag full of blue pills.”

They drank, talked, maybe flirted, Clint wasn’t sure, couldn’t tell if it was business schmoozing or not. But after another round of scotch, Clint suggested they finish the transaction in the alley.

The glint in Welch’s eye maybe took the guesswork out of business wooing.

…

“They’re coming,” Nat confirmed. “Get ready team. Let’s take this bastard down.” She tried to justify the language as strictly disgust for a drug leader, but she knew it was partially fueled by the man’s alternative interest in her partner. She really should get Clint a card or something to thank him for not interjecting into any of her honeypot missions to ‘protect her honor.’ She knew it bothered him and she’d been on the other end to know that feeling in turn. But he was so much more patient about it then she was. Mission or not, sleazy mark flirting with her partner stirred up her anger.

The door to the alley opened. Clint stepped out first followed by Welch. As soon as the door shut, Clint swiped a leg under Simon’s footing, knocking him to the ground. Nat charged, hissing to Barnes to keep an eye from the roof. It felt like overkill.

Until Simon pulled a gun.

He fired off a shot in Nat’s direction, but she dodged it easily. Clint sent a kick to the guy’s head, but Welch surprised them by blocking Clint’s leg with a forearm and shoving him aside. Steve was suddenly behind Simon, getting him into a full nelson. Welch growled before flinging his weight forward and sending Cap flipping ass over end.

“That’s not possible right? None of this-” Clint was cut off by Nat firing a shot off, hitting Welch’s kneecap. He hit the ground in pain as Nat stood over him, barrel trained.

Welch chuckled into the dirt. “Should’ve known SHIELD wouldn’t stay down. Too interested in what I’m peddling to do so.”

Cap pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “We’re taking you in. I suggest you come quietly or Nat here will find a better place to put a bullet than your knee.”

Welch grinned sickeningly. “Funny thing about Opulence,” he directed at Clint. “It doesn’t just make you _feel_ like a king.” He jumped up and in one motion disarmed Nat and aimed for Clint. Nat shoved his arm just in time to send the bullet off course from Clint’s heart to a scrape on his side. Simon countered with a shot towards her. She dodged, kicked, sending him backwards into Steve. But the man used the other to launch off and flip over, landing behind both agents. He took off running towards the other end of the alley when a bullet landed in his shoulder followed but another in his opposite knee. Simon tumbled to the ground and Steve was there in seconds to cuff him.

Nat looked up at Bucky who’d fired the shots.

“Things looked like they went wrong,” he shrugged.

She smiled and saluted him. A groan had her instantly over by Clint, helping him out of his shirt so they could use it to stem off the bleeding.

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

She raised a brow. “I’ve seen what you consider a scratch, Barton. We’re getting you checked out by medical.”

He rolled his eyes but reached into his pants pocket. “Tranq arrowhead.” He nodded towards Simon. “Better safe, right?”

She grinned and took it from him, still holding his shirt tightly to his side. She tossed the arrowhead to Cap who cracked it open, left it next to Welch, and took a few steps back. Once the man was out, Steve slung him over his shoulder.

“He’ll fit in the trunk, right?”

“Better question is will he fit on the SHIELD’s-on-a-budget plane.” Clint countered, groaning as pain shot up his side.

Barnes slid down the fire escape and landed next to Steve, shouldering his rifle. “We’ll make room if we need to.”

“I’m driving,” Nat remarked, helping keep Clint steady as they exited the alley. Steve flowed behind them, Simon over his shoulder. And while their backs were turned, Bucky quickly bent down and swiped up the little baggie of blue pills, shoving them in his inner jacket pocket.

 

** Later **

 

They watched the security footage of Welch coming off of Opulence. They saw how his bones showed, how his mind rambled. They saw marrow-deep exhaustion, ravenous hunger. They saw begging for a new high. Then Fury turned off the monitor.

“He gave us the name of his supplier without much prompting,” Fury informed the team as they stood before his desk. “We’ll be following up throughout the next few weeks. But good job, agents. Your first mission was a success.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Nat answered for the group.

Fury waved them off, but asked Barnes to hang back. The others dismissed.

“You have what I asked for?” Fury inquired.

Bucky pulled the bag of Opulence out of his pocket and tossed it on to Fury’s desk. “Means I passed, right?”

Fury raised a brow. “Means you know how to take orders.” He held up the bag, inspecting its contents. “I don’t trust anyone, Barnes. You understand that, yes?”

“Yes, Sir. In fact, I’m a little surprised you let me in on _anything_ at SHEILD to be honest.”

Fury put the bag of pills in his desk drawer. “Well you might have noticed but I’m down a few agents since your old employers got ratted out of my organization.” He shut the drawer with a slam. “And you’re bright enough to know I’ve left failsafes in place.”

Bucky nodded. “I’d figured, Sir.” He hesitated. “I actually feel safer knowing that there’s something to stop me if I slip.”

Fury nodded. “You just keep your head down, do what you’re told. Make sure Rogers doesn’t do anything too reckless.”

A smirk came to Bucky’s lips. “That’s a full time job, Sir.”

“I know. It used to be mine.” He sighed and waved a hand towards the door. “Go catch up with your team, Barnes. And remember, this stays between us.” He glanced down to the drawer with the pills. Bucky nodded once, confirming, before leaving.

…

Clint rubbed at the bandage at his side but bumped his good side into Nat’s. “Permission to celebrate with a beer, team leader?”

“I could go for a couple,” Bucky responded, flinging his metal arm around Steve’s shoulders as he came up from behind. “How ‘bout it, pal? Think I’ll win this time? We’re even on the super serum front now.”

Steve laughed and kissed Bucky’ cheek. “You’re on.”

“So what do ya say, Nat?” Clint inquired, eyes hopeful.

“As long as I’m not buying,” she answered.

Which was how they found themselves three hours later with Bucky, Steve, and Nat still going strong and Clint drooling against the wall of the booth.

“We should probably take him home,” Steve reasoned.

Nat finished her vodka in a smooth swallow. “I’ve got him. You two go on ahead.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked, downing the rest of his Jameson.

“Trust me. It’s not the first time.”

Bucky handed Steve his coat before heading up to the bar to settle the tab. Nat slid an arm around Clint, shaking him gently. “Wake up, sunshine.”

He grunted something unintelligible but seemed conscious enough to move towards the door. She poured him into a cab and gave the driver the address for the little townhome Fury had set the team up with in the nearest town from base. They had the top floor and were registered under Collins. It was never specified if they were married, siblings, cousins, and it didn’t matter. Natasha just appreciated not being alone. She’d had enough of that recently.

Steve and James had the bottom floor and Nat could hear them on speakerphone with Sam back in D.C. as she dragged Clint up the stairs.

She settled him on the couch with some water and pain relievers on the side table. She took a shower and brushed her teeth and when she went to check on him she found him awake.

Natasha leaned on the doorjamb to the living area. “You did well tonight, Barton.”

He grinned and took another pain pill. “Got shot.”

She shrugged. “You’ve been shot before.”

He nodded before patting the cushion beside him. She crossed the room and settled down next to him.

“Can I ask you something?” he began.

“Don’t expect an answer.”

“I never do.” He sighed. “You didn’t… actually think I was Hydra. I mean, not really, right? You wouldn’t really believe I was…”

She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Fury had everyone running suspicious. And between that and old memories, old alliances being drudged up online, by word of mouth… I guess I just reverted back to some bad habits.” She faced him, could see the hurt still lingering in his eyes. She knew he understood though. He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t. “If it makes you feel better, Fury had me on his potential Hydra list for a bit.”

Clint grunted.

“Had Rogers too.”

“Okay, that one makes me feel better.”

She swatted at him. “Ass.”

But he was grinning and she’d missed that so much. She leaned away but put her feet in his lap and he habitually began rubbing them. “Can I ask _you_ something?” she countered.

“Shoot.”

“Would you have taken Opulence?”

He raised a brow and still his motions. He thought about it for a moment, seeming to weigh all the options. He shook his head. “Not after seeing Welch come down off of it. But if they got it to a point where it didn’t have much for withdrawals…probably.”  

Natasha kept her face blank while Clint restarted making gentle circles on his feet. She asked, “Why?”

He chuckled deep in his throat, laid his head on the back of the couch, closed his eyes. “Because I’d be a super soldier, Tash.”

“It’s not that great,” she tried. “It’s not like it magically takes care of needing to train. You still have to eat right and work out. Getting shot still hurts even if it is for less time. It’s not like it makes you immortal.” She felt his hands still. “It doesn’t make you better or anything. It just makes you… look, Clint, you’re already a superhero. You fought aliens in downtown Manhattan with the rest of the superheroes. You don’t need some pill or serum to make you special. You already are. You’re super because of your dedication and practice and for fighting with the big dogs without some serum or a suit of armor or magic hammer. And I know I sound like some high school guidance counselor, but it’s true, Clint. Taking that pill wouldn’t have made you any better. Okay? Clint?”

But he was snoring and she got the impression her words had gone largely unnoticed. _Maybe for the better,_ she thought as she stood and went to her room. _They were too soft for an assassin._ _For a Widow._

 

** Tomorrow **

 

“Agent Fury, Sir,” a lab tech called as the director entered the temporary space set aside for the science division. There was still rubble sitting in the corner next to what looked like an incubator and several side tables. It was a far cry from the set up they were used to. But it was what they had. Hill was currently getting funding for her Public SHIELD and once she did, Fury knew he could farm some of the science projects out her way. But for now the lab was an open floor plan with tables and lab spaces lined up in rows. It almost harkened back to the original set-ups in the Forties… if they’d been bombed previously he supposed.

Fury stood in front of the agent who’d beckoned him, saw a familiar bag of blue pills sitting in a tray.

“Preliminary analysis?”

The lab tech pushed up her glasses. “It appears the pill forms a temporary adhesion to the user’s cells. It kick starts their mitochondria and puts it into overdrive. Because the subject doesn’t usually know how to upkeep something moving so fast cellularly, they run out of fuel and the withdrawals, exhaustion, hunger, they all kick in.”

“And if the user did keep up fuel intake?”

She shrugged. “They might get the drug to last a bit longer. But, Sir, I’m afraid the strain on the cells will accumulate over time, work them to death. Make the user age very quickly.”

Fury frowned. “Could they be worked to be more stable?”

The lab tech considered this, running hypotheses in her mind. “I could conduct a few more tests, see if I can get some balance between fuel consumption and accelerated performance.”      

Fury nodded. “Let me know if you come up with anything.”

He left, rubbing at his eye as he made his way back to his makeshift office. He wanted to groan at seeing Hill leaning on the doorframe waiting for him. “Can’t stay away, huh?”

Hill ignored him and followed after, closing his office door behind her, watching Fury sit heavily in his chair. “You seem tired, Sir.”

“I’m getting too old for this.”

“You could’ve walked away once recovered from getting shot by the Winter Solider. Everyone did think you were dead.”

“I had too much to do yet.”

“Like hiring said Winter Solider to work for SHIELD?”

“I sense disapproval.” He leaned back in his chair.

“It’s pretty risky, Fury. One wrong word and he could be triggered, take this whole place down.”

“That’s why I have him in a team of equals. He gets out of line, the rest of Echo will take him down.”

“Does that plan apply to Barton too?”

“Loki messed him up but didn’t leave anything permanent, rouge massacre wise that is.”

Hill tapped the digital tablet she was holding. “But he did leave some pretty heavy scars. Have you seen any of Barton’s psych evals after New York?”

Fury raised a brow. “I’m sensing you’re going somewhere with this.”

Hill pulled up a chart on her tablet, passed it to Fury. “The right shows after New York, the left before. He’s barely stable enough to be out in the field, on medication for depression, anxiety. Fury,” she sighed deeply, “I think it would be a good idea to administer the exam again. See if he really does still qualify for Echo.”

Fury scrubbed a hand down his face. “I can’t pull him from this.”

“Even if it’s a danger to him?”

“Dammit, Hill. Look at our jobs. Everything’s a danger!” He took a breath thankful for her military background so she’d know to stay quiet and still when called out. “He needs the team, Hill. And they need him.”

She didn’t seem completely convinced, but took her tablet back anyway. “Yes, Sir.”

 

** Last Week **

 

Eliza Nicholson checked the door to her basement once more to make sure it was locked. She could hear her husband playing with their daughter upstairs. Her laughter was a blessing.

They didn’t know how much longer little Amy had.

Eliza closed her eyes, stopping those thoughts as she pulled a baggie of blue pills from her pocket. The dealer had said they’d make her feel immortal, give her superpowers. She’d done her research; she knew the pills were unstable. But if she could just figure it out then maybe, just maybe Amy would have a chance.

Her basement lab was something of a joke. She used it occasionally to try out assignments for her tenth grade chemistry class. She walked herself through each experiment every time so she’d be ready to take it to a bunch of teenagers.

She put the pill in a petri dish, sliced off a thin sliver with a scalpel and put that sample on a slide. Carefully she put it under the microscope.

Upstairs she could hear Amy’s laughter dissolve into coughing. Her instinct was to drop everything and run to her daughter’s side. But what she was doing now had the potential to _cure_ her. And that was more important in the long run.

 _You’ll feel better soon, sweet pea,_ she thought as she took another look through the microscope. _Soon._

  

**Author's Note:**

> I had a deadline on this so sorry for lack of grammar, spelling, plot. I'm balancing a lot right now. I hope this wasn't too awful...


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